


Hunter's Vow

by Azphen



Series: to fold an ace [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Guardian (Destiny), but it kind of goes with To Never Fold so im posting it, this is objectively bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azphen/pseuds/Azphen
Summary: If you learn nothing else, learn this: when a Hunter takes up the cloak of a dead comrade, it is a vow.First, Cayde took Andal’s after losing the Vanguard Dare.Then, the Guardian took Cayde’s.
Relationships: Cayde-6 & Guardian (Destiny) (mentioned), Guardian & Ikora Rey
Series: to fold an ace [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085276
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Hunter's Vow

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The Guardian is androgynous and nameless, their only solid trait being their Hunter class status. It’s a self-insert pretending it isn’t what it is.  
> I wrote this right after “To Never Fold”. They weren’t necessarily meant to go together, but it seemed to work out anyway. This fic kind of sucks ass but I was proud of it when I wrote it.
> 
> I also don’t know whether or not to capitalize the word “Guardian” in certain contexts. So there’s that.

“Are you sure about this, Guardian?” Ikora’s voice was muffled to the Hunter as they gripped the edge of the sheet that covered Cayde’s body. “The weight of his cloak is more than just the material it was made from. You— you are making a promise to him.”

“I know,” they gritted out, “and I vow to kill every single last one of them.”

Light footsteps echoed throughout the chamber as she stepped up beside them. The room was suddenly very quiet, both guardians solemn as they looked over where their dead friend rested. There was a faint memory of Asher Mir, in all of his sick, humorous glory, saying with a dismissive chuckle that “Hunter Vanguards go quick”. Despite that, Cayde’s death surprised even him.

 _Everyone_ was affected. They all thought he would’ve had more time. That Cayde-6, the guy who always had a plan, from a strategic proposition to a fantastical aspiration, still had a long road ahead of him. 

The guy who’s luck just wasn’t enough to get him out this time.

After a long period of mutual silence, they heard Ikora shift.

“I remember how much he used to talk about you,” she said, rubbing a small piece of the soft sheet in between her fingers. 

The Hunter whipped their head to look at the Warlock, eyebrows raised.

She continued. “About how this… this smug, sly _bastard_ of a guardian— one of his Hunters, no less!— who so rarely speaks, is the only person who gets his jokes.” Ikora broke into a smile at the fond memory. “How you followed his plans and ideas without a word, going beyond the limits and killing Oryx then later running off to Nessus to save his life.”

They opened their mouth to say that they wished they could’ve saved Cayde in the Prison of Elders, too, but was too stunned to speak. It seemed like the thought was mutual, for another moment of silence overtook them.

Ikora’s brows furrowed, smile becoming pained as she let out a soft chuckle. “He swore if I told anyone, he would have my head.” She faltered for a moment, then took a deep breath. “But he also said he’d never forgive himself if he died without a proper thank you.”

The woman glanced at them, eyes full of emotion, then turned back and pointedly stared at the symbols sewn on the sheet. “He might’ve been a Vanguard, but Cayde saw you as his equal, his… _‘buddy’,_ a partner, and someone who took him seriously. You saw past his braggart, comedic exterior and… him seeing you out on the field, doing what _he_ asked, with nobody else’s input, made being a Vanguard bearable for him. You allowed him to feel like he was doing something. I know he appreciated that.”

The Warlock hung her head and screwed her eyes shut, overcome with grief. 

“I just wish he was able to tell you that himself,” she whispered hoarsely. “He gave me a gift for Banshee and joked about not coming back to give it to him in person, and I—” she cut herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m… sorry. I need a moment.”

The Hunter stared at Ikora, helpless as she struggled not to completely lose her composure. The soft light from above reflected from the silver collar of her robes, which shook gently from her shoulders trembling. 

“Zavala, he— he should’ve _been here._ Been here to _see_ this, been here for me, for _you…”_ Ikora trailed off as she got choked up again. “For Cayde.”

Seeing a Vanguard in such a state would stun any guardian, but it was entirely different if said Vanguard were a friend. Ikora was an unstoppable force, a guardian with such great intelligence and strength that many aspired to be like her. In war, it was often easy to forget that leaders were as human as anyone else, looked up to because they were seen as an invincible shield.

If that had ever been the case in the past, it certainly wasn't now. The knowledge of a friend being more than their job never left the back of their mind, but seeing someone as strong as Ikora break down her walls in a rare sight of vulnerability was a hard-hitting reminder that, despite how leaders must act to maintain those who follow them, there is always something else hiding on the inside waiting to be let out. 

Taking a long, slow sigh, she stilled and opened her eyes. The Hunter wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually she turned to look at them, fiery determination burning in her gaze. Her hand lay gently on the table, near where Cayde’s head rested.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Responding with a firm nod, they stepped closer to Ikora and the two guardians slowly folded the sheet back to expose their friend’s face. Ikora visibly flinched, and the Hunter stiffened as the horrific memories flooded back. Memories of Cayde’s comms going out, memories of arriving only moments after Uldren dealt a final blow with the stolen Ace of Spades. Of Cayde coughing on the ground, cracking jokes and sputtering out his last words as he died right in front of them.

With a deep breath, the Hunter carefully unclipped the cloak from their former Vanguard’s chestplate. Ikora gently cradled Cayde’s neck and cranium as his scarf and hood were slid over his head. Hand ghosting over the bullet wound in the Exo’s chest with lingering grief, the Hunter gingerly lifted Cayde’s body so Ikora could pull the cape out from under him. Once she gathered up the cloak in her arms, they gently laid Cayde back on the table and covered him again with the sheet.

The Warlock took a step towards them, holding out the cloak which was ever-so-carefully draped over her arms.

The Hunter looked over to the chamber entrance, envisioning their old cloak which was folded neatly inside the Vault.

“Take it, Guardian.” she pleaded, bringing their attention back to her. “He would want you to have it,” she whispered.

The Hunter stared into Ikora’s intense gaze, and slowly looked down at Cayde’s cloak.

Andal’s cloak.

It could never be _their_ cloak, something that truly belonged to them. It would be Cayde’s cloak, just as Cayde could only see it as Andal’s despite all the years wearing it as his own.

They reached out to touch it, but stopped midway, fingers curling back in uncertainty. 

_Take it._

It seemed so sacred, so untouchable.

_He would want you to have it._

It should’ve never left Cayde’s shoulders.

_Listen, kid. This… this ain’t on you._

Almost as if it would be a weight too great to carry on one person alone.

_You are making a promise to him._

An oath waiting to be made, unable to be fulfilled by anyone other than them.

Brows furrowing in determination, they squared their shoulders and delicately lifted the cloak from Ikora’s outstretched arms. Astonished, the Hunter stared at the tattered ends of the cape. Then, with practiced speed, they clipped it onto their chestplate and tossed the scarf over their head to rest along their collarbone.

The Hunter gripped the scarf and pulled it away from their neck just enough to look at it. They felt foreign. They were known as some “legendary guardian”, a Hunter who had slain gods, and yet… taking up the cloak of their friend wasn’t something they were sure of being able to handle.

“Make Cayde proud.” Ikora’s voice, for the second time, brought them back to reality.

“I’ll avenge him,” they whispered, loosening their grip on the scarf so it could fall back onto the top of their sternum.

“I know you will.”

With a final nod out of respect to both Ikora and their fallen friend, the Hunter pulled the hood over their head and marched out of the chamber into the sunlight. 

The moment the Sun’s rays hit them, their Ghost flew around to face them with a look that felt scrutinizing. The little robot seemed to forget what he was about to say to his guardian, for he remained almost completely motionless.

Growing increasingly impatient, the Hunter resumed taking swift steps up a small set of stairs, making their way towards the Hangar. They heard a small beep of surprise in response to the quick departure, and the drone flew around them again, making sure to stay within the Guardian’s line of sight.

“I—” the Ghost hesitated. The Hunter continued walking.

“You know I’ll never leave you, right?” the semi-robotic voice finally asked. The person in question glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “But sometimes… I don’t like the look in your eyes.”

The Hunter kept walking. The Ghost floated close to their side, silent apart from occasional buzzing when parts of his shell shifted. They traveled through the Hangar until they reached their ship.

As the Guardian was climbing up to get inside, the Ghost zipped in front of their face to block their path. “You’re on a rampage, and I’m not comfortable with it.”

The Guardian bowed their head and grit their teeth in irritation, gripping each railing in their hands.

“We’re going to get the Barons,” they growled, sparks of light flickering at their fingertips from rage, “then Uldren.”

His Ghost slowly floated closer to their face and whispered, “I don’t want to lose you to this.”

“You won’t,” came the seething response.

§

The Guardian kneeled down and picked up the Ace of Spades, examining it for only a moment as their Ghost materialized next to them, before walking over to Uldren. He was struggling to crawl away, coughing and fighting for breath.

Just like Cayde had. 

Before he was mercilessly shot by the man at their feet, using the gun in their hand.

Upon the Ace of Spades being pointed directly at his head, Uldren leaned back onto his elbows, defeated. He chuckled and sneered, “Congratulations. You have my _undivided_ attention.” He attempted to sit up and snarled through gritted teeth, “Now where’s my sister?”

Petra Venj appeared around a stone pillar, her own hand cannon already aimed at Uldren as she took brisk strides toward him. “She’s not here, Uldren… and if she was…” Petra trailed off as she stopped to stand beside the Guardian. “This would be a whole lot easier.”

The Awoken man fell back onto his elbows with a pained huff. “So, this is to be a reckoning,” he snarked.

“Wait. Not like this.” The Hunter’s Ghost, who had been silently witnessing the encounter, spoke up. “Look at him— he’s finished.” The Ghost turned to Uldren, who only slumped further down in response. “Even with everything he’s done, we can’t just—”

“You have no _idea_ what he’s done!” Petra shouted, her grip on her gun tightening so much it shook from her fury. She looked down the barrel, hood casting a shadow over the top of her face. “If Cayde was here, I know what he would do, Guardian.” She whisked her head around to face the Hunter. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Uldren began, catching the attention of them both, “What would the notorious Cayde-6 do?” he asked mockingly, gesturing to the Ace of Spades. “You have his gun. Seems you get the last word.”

Uldren sat up again, leaning towards Petra with malice in his eyes. “Everything I did, I did for _her,”_ he grit out. Once more leaning back, he whispered, “Funny. The line between Light and Dark is so very thin.” 

_I don’t want to lose you to this,_ their Ghost had told them. It felt like decades had passed since then, but it had only been weeks. Not even a month. 

Turning his amber gaze to the Guardian, Uldren asked, “Do you know which side _you’re_ on?”

The Hunter’s eyes widened, and they lowered the Ace of Spades a fraction. There was a lull as silence took over the room. 

The moment of hesitation was a thick mud, gripping like vines around their ankles and holding their feet in place. Uldren Sov deserved death— that was as certain as the sky was blue. Petra was out for blood, but their own motives weren’t so clear. As a Guardian, defender of the Light, were they meant to be the other side of the coin? 

Or would that just be a coverup to conceal the fact that they were like Petra, reasoning only on the down-low because of their quiet exterior? 

The Guardian’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. They had come all this way. 

There was only one more name on their list.

This was the end. It was over.

It wasn't worth letting Cayde's murderer go for the sake of a façade of justice, of a rightful conviction and a fair trial.

Their index finger slid down the trigger. Their reasons didn’t matter anymore.

Petra glanced at them with wide eyes the moment they raised the barrel again, giving a definitive nod as their thumb brushed over the stock’s frame. The Hunter looked murderous, hood keeping the Watchtower’s light from hitting their face.

They pulled down the hood of Cayde’s old cloak so the soft glow could hit them. The Guardian muttered lowly, “When a Hunter takes up the cloak of a dead comrade…” they paused for a deep breath, cocking the Ace of Spades and pointing it more firmly at Uldren’s head, “It is a vow.”

A single gunshot echoed.


End file.
